Last of all comes the tyrannical man; about whom we have once more to ask, how is he formed out of the democratical? and how does he live, in happiness or in misery?
"Last of all comes the tyrannical man. We must ask again how he emerges from the democratic man. Does he live in happiness or in misery?"
Yes, he said, he is the only one remaining.
"Yes," he said. "He is the only one left."
There is, however, I said, a previous question which remains unanswered.
"But I said there is an earlier question that still hasn't been answered."
What question?
"What question?"
I do not think that we have adequately determined the nature and number of the appetites, and until this is accomplished the enquiry will always be confused.
"I don't think we've clearly worked out the nature and number of the appetites. Until we do, the inquiry will stay confused."
Well, he said, it is not too late to supply the omission.
"Well," he said, "it's not too late to make up for that omission."
Very true, I said; and observe the point which I want to understand: Certain of the unnecessary pleasures and appetites I conceive to be unlawful; every one appears to have them, but in some persons they are controlled by the laws and by reason, and the better desires prevail over them—either they are wholly banished or they become few and weak; while in the case of others they are stronger, and there are more of them.
"Very true," I said. "Notice the point I want to understand. I think some unnecessary pleasures and appetites are wrong. Everyone seems to have them. In some people the laws and reason keep them under control. The better desires win out. Those bad appetites are either driven out or they become few and weak. In others, those appetites are stronger and more numerous."
Which appetites do you mean?
"Which appetites do you mean?"
I mean those which are awake when the reasoning and human and ruling power is asleep; then the wild beast within us, gorged with meat or drink, starts up and having shaken off sleep, goes forth to satisfy his desires; and there is no conceivable folly or crime—not excepting incest or any other unnatural union, or parricide, or the eating of forbidden food—which at such a time, when he has parted company with all shame and sense, a man may not be ready to commit.
"I mean those that are awake when the reasoning and ruling part of us is asleep. Then the wild beast inside us, full from food or drink, wakes. It shakes off sleep and goes out to satisfy its desires. When it has left all shame and sense behind, a person may be ready to commit any folly or crime. That includes incest and other unnatural unions, parricide, or eating forbidden food."
Most true, he said.
"Very true," he said.
But when a man’s pulse is healthy and temperate, and when before going to sleep he has awakened his rational powers, and fed them on noble thoughts and enquiries, collecting himself in meditation; after having first indulged his appetites neither too much nor too little, but just enough to lay them to sleep, and prevent them and their enjoyments and pains from interfering with the higher principle—which he leaves in the solitude of pure abstraction, free to contemplate and aspire to the knowledge of the unknown, whether in past, present, or future: when again he has allayed the passionate element, if he has a quarrel against any one—I say, when, after pacifying the two irrational principles, he rouses up the third, which is reason, before he takes his rest, then, as you know, he attains truth most nearly, and is least likely to be the sport of fantastic and lawless visions.
"But when a man's pulse is healthy and steady. Before sleep he has awakened his reason and fed it with noble thoughts and questions. He gathers himself in meditation. First he satisfies his bodily appetites, not too much and not too little. Just enough to quiet them so their pleasures and pains do not disturb the higher part. He leaves that higher part alone in pure thought. It is free to contemplate and to seek knowledge of the unknown, whether past, present, or future. If he has a quarrel, he calms his passions. I say, when he has pacified the two irrational parts and then awakens the third, reason, before he rests, then, as you know, he comes closest to the truth. He is least likely to become the plaything of wild, lawless visions."
I quite agree.
"I completely agree."
In saying this I have been running into a digression; but the point which I desire to note is that in all of us, even in good men, there is a lawless wild-beast nature, which peers out in sleep. Pray, consider whether I am right, and you agree with me.
"I'm getting off topic. But my point is simple. In all of us, even good people, there is a wild, lawless side. It shows itself in sleep. Please consider whether I'm right. Tell me if you agree."
Yes, I agree.
"Yes, I agree."
And now remember the character which we attributed to the democratic man. He was supposed from his youth upwards to have been trained under a miserly parent, who encouraged the saving appetites in him, but discountenanced the unnecessary, which aim only at amusement and ornament?
"Now remember the character we assigned to the democratic man. From his youth he was raised by a stingy parent who encouraged his thrift. But that parent discouraged anything unnecessary, anything meant only for amusement or ornament?"
True.
"True."
And then he got into the company of a more refined, licentious sort of people, and taking to all their wanton ways rushed into the opposite extreme from an abhorrence of his father’s meanness. At last, being a better man than his corruptors, he was drawn in both directions until he halted midway and led a life, not of vulgar and slavish passion, but of what he deemed moderate indulgence in various pleasures. After this manner the democrat was generated out of the oligarch?
"Then he fell in with a more polished but loose crowd. He picked up their reckless habits and swung to the opposite extreme. He reacted against his father's stinginess. Eventually, being a better man than his corrupters, he was pulled both ways until he stopped in the middle. He did not live with crude, slavish desires. Instead he chose what he called a moderate enjoyment of various pleasures. Is this how the democrat is born from the oligarch?"
Yes, he said; that was our view of him, and is so still.
"Yes," he said. "That was our view of him, and it still is."
And now, I said, years will have passed away, and you must conceive this man, such as he is, to have a son, who is brought up in his father’s principles.
"Now," I said, "years will pass. Imagine this man as he is and suppose he has a son raised on his father's principles."
I can imagine him.
"I can picture him."
Then you must further imagine the same thing to happen to the son which has already happened to the father:—he is drawn into a perfectly lawless life, which by his seducers is termed perfect liberty; and his father and friends take part with his moderate desires, and the opposite party assist the opposite ones. As soon as these dire magicians and tyrant-makers find that they are losing their hold on him, they contrive to implant in him a master passion, to be lord over his idle and spendthrift lusts—a sort of monstrous winged drone—that is the only image which will adequately describe him.
"Then imagine the same thing happening to the son that already happened to the father. He is pulled into a completely lawless life, which his seducers call perfect liberty. His father and friends side with his moderate desires. The opposing party supports the opposite ones. As soon as these wicked magicians and tyrant-makers see they are losing their hold on him, they set out to implant in him a ruling passion to dominate his idle, spendthrift lusts. It is like a monstrous winged drone. That image alone will do."
Yes, he said, that is the only adequate image of him.
"Yes," he said, "that is the only adequate image of him."
And when his other lusts, amid clouds of incense and perfumes and garlands and wines, and all the pleasures of a dissolute life, now let loose, come buzzing around him, nourishing to the utmost the sting of desire which they implant in his drone-like nature, then at last this lord of the soul, having Madness for the captain of his guard, breaks out into a frenzy: and if he finds in himself any good opinions or appetites in process of formation, and there is in him any sense of shame remaining, to these better principles he puts an end, and casts them forth until he has purged away temperance and brought in madness to the full.
"And when his other desires swarm around him. They come with incense, perfumes, garlands, wine, and every pleasure of a dissolute life. They feed the sharp sting of desire they have planted in his drone-like nature. Then this ruler of the soul, with Madness as captain of his guard, breaks into a frenzy. If he finds any good opinions or budding appetites inside him, if any sense of shame still remains, he destroys those better principles. He casts them out until he has purged temperance and filled himself with madness."
Yes, he said, that is the way in which the tyrannical man is generated.
"Yes," he said, "that's how the tyrannical man is formed."
And is not this the reason why of old love has been called a tyrant?
"Isn't this why people long ago called love a tyrant?"
I should not wonder.
"I shouldn't be surprised."
Further, I said, has not a drunken man also the spirit of a tyrant?
"Besides," I said, "doesn't a drunk person also have the spirit of a tyrant?"
He has.
"He has."
And you know that a man who is deranged and not right in his mind, will fancy that he is able to rule, not only over men, but also over the gods?
"And you know this. A man who is out of his mind will think he can rule other people. He will even imagine he can rule the gods."
That he will.
"He will."
And the tyrannical man in the true sense of the word comes into being when, either under the influence of nature, or habit, or both, he becomes drunken, lustful, passionate? O my friend, is not that so?
"And the truly tyrannical man appears when, by nature, habit, or both, he grows drunk with lust and passion. My friend, isn't that so?"
Assuredly.
"Certainly."
Such is the man and such is his origin. And next, how does he live?
"That's the man and that's where he came from. Next, how does he live?"
Suppose, as people facetiously say, you were to tell me.
"Suppose, as people jokingly say, you told me."
I imagine, I said, at the next step in his progress, that there will be feasts and carousals and revellings and courtezans, and all that sort of thing; Love is the lord of the house within him, and orders all the concerns of his soul.
I said, "I imagine that at the next step in his progress he will have feasts and wild parties. There will be revelry, courtesans, and all that sort of thing. Love is the lord of the house within him and directs all the affairs of his soul."
That is certain.
"That's certain."
Yes; and every day and every night desires grow up many and formidable, and their demands are many.
"Yes. Every day and every night many strong desires arise. They make many demands."
They are indeed, he said.
"They are indeed," he said.
His revenues, if he has any, are soon spent.
"If he has any income, he spends it quickly."
True.
"True."
Then comes debt and the cutting down of his property.
"Then he falls into debt, and his property is taken away."
Of course.
"Of course."
When he has nothing left, must not his desires, crowding in the nest like young ravens, be crying aloud for food; and he, goaded on by them, and especially by love himself, who is in a manner the captain of them, is in a frenzy, and would fain discover whom he can defraud or despoil of his property, in order that he may gratify them?
"When he has nothing left, won't his desires, crowded in the nest like young ravens, cry out for food? Driven on by them, and especially by Love himself, who is their captain, he becomes frantic. He then tries to find someone he can defraud or strip of their possessions to satisfy them."
Yes, that is sure to be the case.
"Yes, that's certainly the case."
He must have money, no matter how, if he is to escape horrid pains and pangs.
"He must have money by any means if he is to escape horrid pains and pangs."
He must.
"He must."
And as in himself there was a succession of pleasures, and the new got the better of the old and took away their rights, so he being younger will claim to have more than his father and his mother, and if he has spent his own share of the property, he will take a slice of theirs.
"And just as pleasures succeed one another in a person. The new ones overpower the old and take their place. So a son, being younger, will demand more than his father or mother. If he has spent his own share of the property, he will take some of theirs."
No doubt he will.
"I'm sure he will."
And if his parents will not give way, then he will try first of all to cheat and deceive them.
"If his parents won't give in, he will first try to cheat and deceive them."
Very true.
"That's very true."
And if he fails, then he will use force and plunder them.
"And if he fails, he'll use force and loot them."
Yes, probably.
"Yes, probably."
And if the old man and woman fight for their own, what then, my friend? Will the creature feel any compunction at tyrannizing over them?
"And if the old man and woman fight for their own, what then, my friend? Will the creature feel any guilt about tyrannizing them?"
Nay, he said, I should not feel at all comfortable about his parents.
"No," he said, "I wouldn't feel comfortable at all about his parents."
But, O heavens! Adeimantus, on account of some new-fangled love of a harlot, who is anything but a necessary connection, can you believe that he would strike the mother who is his ancient friend and necessary to his very existence, and would place her under the authority of the other, when she is brought under the same roof with her; or that, under like circumstances, he would do the same to his withered old father, first and most indispensable of friends, for the sake of some newly-found blooming youth who is the reverse of indispensable?
"But, O heavens! Adeimantus, can you believe because of some sudden passion for a prostitute he would strike his mother? She is his oldest friend and essential to his very existence. Would he put her under that woman's authority when they live under the same roof? Or would he, in the same way, do this to his frail old father? He is his first and most indispensable friend. All for the sake of some newly found young lover who is anything but indispensable."
Yes, indeed, he said; I believe that he would.
"Yes, indeed," he said. "I believe he would."
Truly, then, I said, a tyrannical son is a blessing to his father and mother.
"Really," I said, "a tyrannical son is a blessing to his parents."
He is indeed, he replied.
"He is indeed," he replied.
He first takes their property, and when that fails, and pleasures are beginning to swarm in the hive of his soul, then he breaks into a house, or steals the garments of some nightly wayfarer; next he proceeds to clear a temple. Meanwhile the old opinions which he had when a child, and which gave judgment about good and evil, are overthrown by those others which have just been emancipated, and are now the body-guard of love and share his empire. These in his democratic days, when he was still subject to the laws and to his father, were only let loose in the dreams of sleep. But now that he is under the dominion of love, he becomes always and in waking reality what he was then very rarely and in a dream only; he will commit the foulest murder, or eat forbidden food, or be guilty of any other horrid act. Love is his tyrant, and lives lordly in him and lawlessly, and being himself a king, leads him on, as a tyrant leads a State, to the performance of any reckless deed by which he can maintain himself and the rabble of his associates, whether those whom evil communications have brought in from without, or those whom he himself has allowed to break loose within him by reason of a similar evil nature in himself. Have we not here a picture of his way of life?
"At first he takes their property. When that fails and pleasures start to swarm in the hive of his soul, he breaks into houses and steals the clothes of a traveler at night. Next he loots a temple. Meanwhile, the childhood beliefs that once judged right and wrong are toppled. They are replaced by newly freed opinions that serve as love's bodyguard and share its rule. Back in his democratic days, when he still obeyed the law and his father, those impulses were freed only in dreams. Now, under love's rule, he becomes while awake what he had been rarely in dreams. He will commit the foulest murder, eat forbidden food, or do any other horrible act. Love is his tyrant. It lives in him arrogantly and without law. It is a king that acts like a tyrant and pushes him, as a tyrant pushes a city, to do any reckless thing that will keep it in power and protect its crowd of followers. Some of those followers are outsiders brought in by bad company. Others are parts of himself he has allowed to break loose because he shares their corrupt nature. Isn't this a picture of his way of life?"
Yes, indeed, he said.
"Yes, indeed," he said.
And if there are only a few of them in the State, and the rest of the people are well disposed, they go away and become the body-guard or mercenary soldiers of some other tyrant who may probably want them for a war; and if there is no war, they stay at home and do many little pieces of mischief in the city.
"And if only a few are left in the state, and most people are well disposed, they leave. They become bodyguards or mercenaries for another tyrant who might want them for a war. If there is no war, they stay home and do many small acts of mischief in the city."
What sort of mischief?
"What kind of mischief?"
For example, they are the thieves, burglars, cut-purses, foot-pads, robbers of temples, man-stealers of the community; or if they are able to speak they turn informers, and bear false witness, and take bribes.
"For example, they are the thieves, burglars, pickpockets, robbers on foot, temple robbers, and kidnappers in the community. If they can speak, they become informers. They give false testimony and take bribes."
A small catalogue of evils, even if the perpetrators of them are few in number.
"A short list of evils, even if only a few people commit them."
Yes, I said; but small and great are comparative terms, and all these things, in the misery and evil which they inflict upon a State, do not come within a thousand miles of the tyrant; when this noxious class and their followers grow numerous and become conscious of their strength, assisted by the infatuation of the people, they choose from among themselves the one who has most of the tyrant in his own soul, and him they create their tyrant.
"Yes," I said. "Small and great are relative terms. Even the worst of those evils does not come within a thousand miles of a tyrant. When this harmful class and its followers grow numerous, they begin to sense their strength. If the people are swept up in infatuation, that helps them. They pick one of their own. They choose the man who is most tyrant-like in his soul. He becomes their tyrant."
Yes, he said, and he will be the most fit to be a tyrant.
"Yes," he said. "He will be the best suited to rule as a tyrant."
If the people yield, well and good; but if they resist him, as he began by beating his own father and mother, so now, if he has the power, he beats them, and will keep his dear old fatherland or motherland, as the Cretans say, in subjection to his young retainers whom he has introduced to be their rulers and masters. This is the end of his passions and desires.
"If the people yield, well and good. But if they resist him, he does to them what he first did to his father and mother. He began by beating his own parents. Now, if he has the power, he beats the people. He will keep his dear old fatherland or motherland, as the Cretans say, under the control of the young retainers. He has brought them in to be the people's rulers and masters. This is the end of his passions and desires."
Exactly.
"Exactly."
When such men are only private individuals and before they get power, this is their character; they associate entirely with their own flatterers or ready tools; or if they want anything from anybody, they in their turn are equally ready to bow down before them: they profess every sort of affection for them; but when they have gained their point they know them no more.
"When such men are private individuals, before they gain power, this is their character. They keep company only with their own flatterers and willing tools. If they want anything from someone, they are just as ready to bow down to them. They pretend every kind of affection. But once they have what they wanted, they act as if they do not know them."
Yes, truly.
"Yes, indeed."
They are always either the masters or servants and never the friends of anybody; the tyrant never tastes of true freedom or friendship.
"They are always either masters or servants. They never become friends with anyone. The tyrant never experiences true freedom or friendship."
Certainly not.
"Certainly not."
And may we not rightly call such men treacherous?
"Can't we rightly call such men treacherous?"
No question.
"No question."
Also they are utterly unjust, if we were right in our notion of justice?
"So they are completely unjust, if we're right about what justice is?"
Yes, he said, and we were perfectly right.
"Yes," he said. "We were perfectly right."
Let us then sum up in a word, I said, the character of the worst man: he is the waking reality of what we dreamed.
"Let's sum up the worst man's character in one sentence," I said. "He is the dream made real while awake."
Most true.
"That's very true."
And this is he who being by nature most of a tyrant bears rule, and the longer he lives the more of a tyrant he becomes.
"And this is he who by nature is most like a tyrant. He rules, and the longer he lives the more tyrannical he becomes."
That is certain, said Glaucon, taking his turn to answer.
"That's certain," Glaucon said as he took his turn to answer.
And will not he who has been shown to be the wickedest, be also the most miserable? and he who has tyrannized longest and most, most continually and truly miserable; although this may not be the opinion of men in general?
"Won't he who has been shown to be the most wicked also be the most miserable? The one who has been a tyrant the longest will be the most constantly and truly miserable. That may not be what most people think."
Yes, he said, inevitably.
"Yes," he said. "It's inevitable."
And must not the tyrannical man be like the tyrannical State, and the democratical man like the democratical State; and the same of the others?
"And shouldn't the tyrannical person resemble a tyrannical state? And the democratic person resemble a democratic state? Isn't the same true for the others?"
Certainly.
"Certainly."
And as State is to State in virtue and happiness, so is man in relation to man?
"And just as one state relates to another in virtue and happiness, so does one person relate to another?"
To be sure.
"Of course."
Then comparing our original city, which was under a king, and the city which is under a tyrant, how do they stand as to virtue?
"So, compare our original city, ruled by a king, with a city ruled by a tyrant. How do they stand in virtue?"
They are the opposite extremes, he said, for one is the very best and the other is the very worst.
"They are opposite extremes," he said. "One is the very best, and the other is the very worst."
There can be no mistake, I said, as to which is which, and therefore I will at once enquire whether you would arrive at a similar decision about their relative happiness and misery. And here we must not allow ourselves to be panic-stricken at the apparition of the tyrant, who is only a unit and may perhaps have a few retainers about him; but let us go as we ought into every corner of the city and look all about, and then we will give our opinion.
"There can be no mistake," I said, "about which is which. So I will ask at once whether you would make the same judgment about their happiness and misery. Do not be alarmed by the sight of the tyrant. He is only one person and may have only a few followers. Let us do what we should. Let's go into every corner of the city and look around, and then we will give our opinion."
A fair invitation, he replied; and I see, as every one must, that a tyranny is the wretchedest form of government, and the rule of a king the happiest.
"A fair invitation," he replied. "I see, as everyone must, that tyranny is the worst form of government. The rule of a king is the happiest."
And in estimating the men too, may I not fairly make a like request, that I should have a judge whose mind can enter into and see through human nature? he must not be like a child who looks at the outside and is dazzled at the pompous aspect which the tyrannical nature assumes to the beholder, but let him be one who has a clear insight. May I suppose that the judgment is given in the hearing of us all by one who is able to judge, and has dwelt in the same place with him, and been present at his dally life and known him in his family relations, where he may be seen stripped of his tragedy attire, and again in the hour of public danger—he shall tell us about the happiness and misery of the tyrant when compared with other men?
"When judging people, may I fairly ask for a judge who understands human nature? He must not be like a child who only sees the surface and is dazzled by a tyrant's showy appearance. Let him have clear insight. Suppose the verdict comes from someone who can judge and has lived beside him. Someone who has seen his daily life and knows his family. Someone who has seen him without his theatrical costume and who has seen him in public danger. Wouldn't that person tell us whether the tyrant is happier or more miserable than other people?"
That again, he said, is a very fair proposal.
"That's a very fair proposal," he said.
Shall I assume that we ourselves are able and experienced judges and have before now met with such a person? We shall then have some one who will answer our enquiries.
"Shall I assume that we are capable, experienced judges and that we have already met someone like that? If so, we will have someone who can answer our questions."
By all means.
"Go ahead."
Let me ask you not to forget the parallel of the individual and the State; bearing this in mind, and glancing in turn from one to the other of them, will you tell me their respective conditions?
"Don't forget the parallel between the individual and the State. Keep that in mind. Glance in turn from one to the other. Tell me their respective conditions."
What do you mean? he asked.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Beginning with the State, I replied, would you say that a city which is governed by a tyrant is free or enslaved?
"Let's start with the state," I said. "Would you call a city ruled by a tyrant free or enslaved?"
No city, he said, can be more completely enslaved.
He said, "No city can be more completely enslaved."
And yet, as you see, there are freemen as well as masters in such a State?
"And yet, as you see, there are free people as well as masters in such a state?"
Yes, he said, I see that there are—a few; but the people, speaking generally, and the best of them are miserably degraded and enslaved.
"Yes," he said, "I see there are a few. But the people in general, even the best among them, are miserably degraded and enslaved."
Then if the man is like the State, I said, must not the same rule prevail? his soul is full of meanness and vulgarity—the best elements in him are enslaved; and there is a small ruling part, which is also the worst and maddest.
"Then if the man is like the State," I said, "shouldn't the same rule apply? His soul is full of meanness and vulgarity. The best parts of him are enslaved. A small ruling part remains, and it is the worst and most irrational."
Inevitably.
"It is inevitable."
And would you say that the soul of such an one is the soul of a freeman, or of a slave?
"Would you say that someone like that has the soul of a free person or of a slave?"
He has the soul of a slave, in my opinion.
"I think he has the soul of a slave."
And the State which is enslaved under a tyrant is utterly incapable of acting voluntarily?
"And a state enslaved by a tyrant is completely unable to act voluntarily?"
Utterly incapable.
"Completely incapable."
And also the soul which is under a tyrant (I am speaking of the soul taken as a whole) is least capable of doing what she desires; there is a gadfly which goads her, and she is full of trouble and remorse?
"Isn't a soul ruled by a tyrant, taken as a whole, the least able to do what it wants? A gadfly keeps prodding it, and it is full of trouble and remorse?"
Certainly.
"Of course."
And is the city which is under a tyrant rich or poor?
"Is a city under a tyrant rich or poor?"
Poor.
"Poor."
And the tyrannical soul must be always poor and insatiable?
"So the tyrannical soul must always be poor and insatiable?"
True.
"True."
And must not such a State and such a man be always full of fear?
"Wouldn't such a State and such a man always be full of fear?"
Yes, indeed.
"Yes, indeed."
Is there any State in which you will find more of lamentation and sorrow and groaning and pain?
"Is there any state where you'll find more mourning, sorrow, groaning, and pain?"
Certainly not.
"Certainly not."
And is there any man in whom you will find more of this sort of misery than in the tyrannical man, who is in a fury of passions and desires?
"Is there anyone more miserable than the tyrannical man? He is consumed by raging passions and desires."
Impossible.
"Impossible."
Reflecting upon these and similar evils, you held the tyrannical State to be the most miserable of States?
"After thinking about these and similar evils, did you regard the tyrannical state as the most miserable of states?"
And I was right, he said.
"I was right," he said.
Certainly, I said. And when you see the same evils in the tyrannical man, what do you say of him?
"Certainly," I said. "And when you see the same evils in the tyrant, what do you say about him?"
I say that he is by far the most miserable of all men.
"I think he is by far the most miserable of all men."
There, I said, I think that you are beginning to go wrong.
"There," I said. "I think you're starting to go wrong."
What do you mean?
"What do you mean?"
I do not think that he has as yet reached the utmost extreme of misery.
"I don't think he's reached the very depths of misery yet."
Then who is more miserable?
"So who is more miserable?"
One of whom I am about to speak.
"I'm about to talk about one of them."
Who is that?
"Who is that?"
He who is of a tyrannical nature, and instead of leading a private life has been cursed with the further misfortune of being a public tyrant.
"He who is tyrannical. Instead of living privately, he suffers the added misfortune of being a public tyrant."
From what has been said, I gather that you are right.
"From what you've said, I think you're right."
Yes, I replied, but in this high argument you should be a little more certain, and should not conjecture only; for of all questions, this respecting good and evil is the greatest.
"Yes," I replied, "but in this serious argument you should be more certain. Don't just guess. Of all questions, the one about good and evil is the greatest."
Very true, he said.
"That's very true," he said.
Let me then offer you an illustration, which may, I think, throw a light upon this subject.
"Let me give you an example I think will shed light on this subject."
What is your illustration?
"What's your example?"
The case of rich individuals in cities who possess many slaves: from them you may form an idea of the tyrant’s condition, for they both have slaves; the only difference is that he has more slaves.
"Consider wealthy city-dwellers who own many slaves. From them you can form an idea of the tyrant's condition. Both have slaves. The only difference is that the tyrant has more."
Yes, that is the difference.
"Yes, that's the difference."
You know that they live securely and have nothing to apprehend from their servants?
"You know they live safely and have nothing to fear from their servants?"
What should they fear?
"What do they have to fear?"
Nothing. But do you observe the reason of this?
"Nothing. Do you see the reason for this?"
Yes; the reason is, that the whole city is leagued together for the protection of each individual.
"Yes. The whole city is united to protect each person."
Very true, I said. But imagine one of these owners, the master say of some fifty slaves, together with his family and property and slaves, carried off by a god into the wilderness, where there are no freemen to help him—will he not be in an agony of fear lest he and his wife and children should be put to death by his slaves?
"Very true," I said. "But imagine one of these owners, the master of, say, fifty slaves, carried off by a god into the wilderness. He is there with his family, his property, and his slaves. No free people are nearby to help him. Won't he be terrified that his slaves will kill him, his wife, and his children?"
Yes, he said, he will be in the utmost fear.
"Yes," he said, "he will be utterly terrified."
The time has arrived when he will be compelled to flatter divers of his slaves, and make many promises to them of freedom and other things, much against his will—he will have to cajole his own servants.
"The time has come when he will be forced to flatter many of his slaves. He will promise them freedom and other things, even though he does not want to. He will have to cajole his own servants."
Yes, he said, that will be the only way of saving himself.
"Yes," he said. "That's the only way to save himself."
And suppose the same god, who carried him away, to surround him with neighbours who will not suffer one man to be the master of another, and who, if they could catch the offender, would take his life?
"Suppose the same god who carried him away placed him among neighbors who refused to let anyone be master. If they could catch the offender, they would kill him."
His case will be still worse, if you suppose him to be everywhere surrounded and watched by enemies.
"His case would be even worse. Imagine him constantly surrounded and watched by enemies."
And is not this the sort of prison in which the tyrant will be bound—he who being by nature such as we have described, is full of all sorts of fears and lusts? His soul is dainty and greedy, and yet alone, of all men in the city, he is never allowed to go on a journey, or to see the things which other freemen desire to see, but he lives in his hole like a woman hidden in the house, and is jealous of any other citizen who goes into foreign parts and sees anything of interest.
"And isn't this the kind of prison the tyrant will be trapped in? He is, by nature, as we described, full of fears and desires. His soul is pampered and greedy. Yet of all the city's people, he alone is never allowed to travel. He cannot see what other free citizens see. He lives in his hole like a woman hidden in the house. He is jealous of anyone who goes abroad and sees anything interesting."
Very true, he said.
"That's very true," he said.
And amid evils such as these will not he who is ill-governed in his own person—the tyrannical man, I mean—whom you just now decided to be the most miserable of all—will not he be yet more miserable when, instead of leading a private life, he is constrained by fortune to be a public tyrant? He has to be master of others when he is not master of himself: he is like a diseased or paralytic man who is compelled to pass his life, not in retirement, but fighting and combating with other men.
"And with evils like these, won't the man who is badly governed within himself be even more miserable? I mean the tyrant you just called the most miserable of all. Imagine he is forced by fortune into public rule instead of a private life. He must master others when he cannot master himself. He is like a sick or paralyzed man. He is forced to spend his life fighting others instead of living in retirement."
Yes, he said, the similitude is most exact.
"Yes," he said, "the resemblance is exact."
Is not his case utterly miserable? and does not the actual tyrant lead a worse life than he whose life you determined to be the worst?
"Isn't his situation completely miserable? Doesn't the real tyrant live a worse life than the man you judged to have the worst life?"
Certainly.
"Certainly."
He who is the real tyrant, whatever men may think, is the real slave, and is obliged to practise the greatest adulation and servility, and to be the flatterer of the vilest of mankind. He has desires which he is utterly unable to satisfy, and has more wants than any one, and is truly poor, if you know how to inspect the whole soul of him: all his life long he is beset with fear and is full of convulsions and distractions, even as the State which he resembles: and surely the resemblance holds?
"The real tyrant, no matter what people think, is actually the real slave. He must show the deepest flattery and servility. He ends up flattering the vilest people. He has desires he cannot satisfy. He has more wants than anyone. If you examine his whole soul, you will see he is truly poor. Fear haunts him all his life. He is full of fits and inner turmoil, like the State he resembles. Isn't that resemblance clear?"
Very true, he said.
"That's very true," he said.
Moreover, as we were saying before, he grows worse from having power: he becomes and is of necessity more jealous, more faithless, more unjust, more friendless, more impious, than he was at first; he is the purveyor and cherisher of every sort of vice, and the consequence is that he is supremely miserable, and that he makes everybody else as miserable as himself.
"As we said earlier, power makes him worse. He becomes, inevitably, more jealous, more unfaithful, more unjust, more friendless, and more impious than he was at first. He fosters and feeds every kind of vice. The result is that he is utterly miserable, and he makes everyone else just as miserable."
No man of any sense will dispute your words.
"No sensible person would disagree with you."
Come then, I said, and as the general umpire in theatrical contests proclaims the result, do you also decide who in your opinion is first in the scale of happiness, and who second, and in what order the others follow: there are five of them in all—they are the royal, timocratical, oligarchical, democratical, tyrannical.
"Come then," I said. "Like the chief judge in a theater contest who announces the result, tell me this. Who do you think ranks first in happiness? Who ranks second? In what order do the others follow? There are five in all. They are the royal, timocratic, oligarchical, democratic, and tyrannical."
The decision will be easily given, he replied; they shall be choruses coming on the stage, and I must judge them in the order in which they enter, by the criterion of virtue and vice, happiness and misery.
"The decision will be easy," he replied. "They will be choruses coming onto the stage. I must judge them in the order they enter, by whether they show virtue or vice, happiness or misery."
Need we hire a herald, or shall I announce, that the son of Ariston (the best) has decided that the best and justest is also the happiest, and that this is he who is the most royal man and king over himself; and that the worst and most unjust man is also the most miserable, and that this is he who being the greatest tyrant of himself is also the greatest tyrant of his State?
"Do we need to hire a herald, or shall I just announce it? The son of Ariston (the best) has decided that the best and most just man is also the happiest. He is the most royal man and king over himself. He also says the worst and most unjust man is the most miserable. That man, being the greatest tyrant of himself, is also the greatest tyrant of his state."
Make the proclamation yourself, he said.
"Make the proclamation yourself," he said.
And shall I add, ‘whether seen or unseen by gods and men’?
"Should I add, 'whether seen or unseen by gods and men'?"
Let the words be added.
"Add the words."
Then this, I said, will be our first proof; and there is another, which may also have some weight.
"Then this," I said, "will be our first proof. There is another that may also carry some weight."
What is that?
"What's that?"
The second proof is derived from the nature of the soul: seeing that the individual soul, like the State, has been divided by us into three principles, the division may, I think, furnish a new demonstration.
"The second proof comes from the nature of the soul. We have divided the individual soul, like the State, into three parts. I think this division can give us a new demonstration."
Of what nature?
"What is it like?"
It seems to me that to these three principles three pleasures correspond; also three desires and governing powers.
"It seems to me that each of these three principles has a matching pleasure. Each also has a matching desire and a matching ruling power."
How do you mean? he said.
"What do you mean?" he said.
There is one principle with which, as we were saying, a man learns, another with which he is angry; the third, having many forms, has no special name, but is denoted by the general term appetitive, from the extraordinary strength and vehemence of the desires of eating and drinking and the other sensual appetites which are the main elements of it; also money-loving, because such desires are generally satisfied by the help of money.
"There is one principle, as we said, by which a person learns. Another is the source of anger. The third has many forms and no specific name. We call it the appetitive part because it includes the powerful urges for food, drink, and other bodily pleasures. It is also money-loving, since those urges are usually satisfied with money."
That is true, he said.
"That's true," he said.
If we were to say that the loves and pleasures of this third part were concerned with gain, we should then be able to fall back on a single notion; and might truly and intelligibly describe this part of the soul as loving gain or money.
"If we say the desires and pleasures of this third part aim at gain, we can use one idea. We can accurately and clearly describe this part of the soul as loving gain or money."
I agree with you.
"I agree with you."
Again, is not the passionate element wholly set on ruling and conquering and getting fame?
"Again, isn't the spirited part completely bent on ruling, conquering, and gaining fame?"
True.
"True."
Suppose we call it the contentious or ambitious—would the term be suitable?
"Suppose we call it the contentious or the ambitious. Would that term be suitable?"
Extremely suitable.
"Perfectly suitable."
On the other hand, every one sees that the principle of knowledge is wholly directed to the truth, and cares less than either of the others for gain or fame.
"Everyone sees that the principle of knowledge is entirely aimed at the truth. It cares less than either of the others about gain or fame."
Far less.
"Much less."
‘Lover of wisdom,’ ‘lover of knowledge,’ are titles which we may fitly apply to that part of the soul?
"Can we properly call that part of the soul the 'lover of wisdom' or the 'lover of knowledge'?"
Certainly.
"Of course."
One principle prevails in the souls of one class of men, another in others, as may happen?
"Does one principle rule the souls of some people, and a different one rule the rest?"
Yes.
"Yes."
Then we may begin by assuming that there are three classes of men—lovers of wisdom, lovers of honour, lovers of gain?
"Then may we begin by assuming that there are three classes of men? Lovers of wisdom, lovers of honor, and lovers of gain?"
Exactly.
"Exactly."
And there are three kinds of pleasure, which are their several objects?
"Are there three kinds of pleasure, each with its own object?"
Very true.
"That's true."
Now, if you examine the three classes of men, and ask of them in turn which of their lives is pleasantest, each will be found praising his own and depreciating that of others: the money-maker will contrast the vanity of honour or of learning if they bring no money with the solid advantages of gold and silver?
"Now, examine the three classes of people. Ask each which life is most pleasant. You will find the same pattern. Each praises his own and belittles the others. The money-maker, for example, will call honor or learning vain if they bring no money. He will contrast that emptiness with the solid advantages of gold and silver."
True, he said.
"That's true," he said.
And the lover of honour—what will be his opinion? Will he not think that the pleasure of riches is vulgar, while the pleasure of learning, if it brings no distinction, is all smoke and nonsense to him?
"What will the lover of honor think? He will see the pleasures of wealth as vulgar. If learning brings him no distinction, its pleasures will seem like mere smoke and nonsense."
Very true.
"That's true."
And are we to suppose, I said, that the philosopher sets any value on other pleasures in comparison with the pleasure of knowing the truth, and in that pursuit abiding, ever learning, not so far indeed from the heaven of pleasure? Does he not call the other pleasures necessary, under the idea that if there were no necessity for them, he would rather not have them?
"And are we to suppose," I said, "that the philosopher values any other pleasures compared with the pleasure of knowing the truth? He stays in that pursuit, always learning, and is not far from a heaven of pleasure. Does he not call the other pleasures necessary because, if they were not necessary, he would rather not have them?"
There can be no doubt of that, he replied.
"There's no doubt about that," he said.
Since, then, the pleasures of each class and the life of each are in dispute, and the question is not which life is more or less honourable, or better or worse, but which is the more pleasant or painless—how shall we know who speaks truly?
"Since the pleasures and lives of each class are in dispute. The question is not which life is more or less honorable or which is better or worse. The real question is which life is more pleasant or less painful. How can we know who is telling the truth?"
I cannot myself tell, he said.
"I can't say," he said.
Well, but what ought to be the criterion? Is any better than experience and wisdom and reason?
"So what should the standard be? Is anything better than experience, wisdom, and reason?"
There cannot be a better, he said.
"There can't be anything better," he said.
Then, I said, reflect. Of the three individuals, which has the greatest experience of all the pleasures which we enumerated? Has the lover of gain, in learning the nature of essential truth, greater experience of the pleasure of knowledge than the philosopher has of the pleasure of gain?
I said, "Then reflect. Of the three people, who has the most experience of the pleasures we listed? Does the lover of gain, when he studies essential truth, enjoy the pleasure of knowledge more? Or does the philosopher enjoy the pleasure of gain more?"
The philosopher, he replied, has greatly the advantage; for he has of necessity always known the taste of the other pleasures from his childhood upwards: but the lover of gain in all his experience has not of necessity tasted—or, I should rather say, even had he desired, could hardly have tasted—the sweetness of learning and knowing truth.
He replied, "The philosopher has a great advantage. From childhood he has always known the taste of the other pleasures. But the lover of gain, despite all his experience, has not necessarily tasted that sweetness. Or, better put, even if he wanted to, he could hardly taste the pleasure of learning and knowing the truth."
Then the lover of wisdom has a great advantage over the lover of gain, for he has a double experience?
"So the lover of wisdom has an advantage over the lover of gain. He gains twice the experience?"
Yes, very great.
"Yes, very great."
Again, has he greater experience of the pleasures of honour, or the lover of honour of the pleasures of wisdom?
"Again, does the lover of wisdom know the pleasures of honor better? Or does the lover of honor know the pleasures of wisdom better?"
Nay, he said, all three are honoured in proportion as they attain their object; for the rich man and the brave man and the wise man alike have their crowd of admirers, and as they all receive honour they all have experience of the pleasures of honour; but the delight which is to be found in the knowledge of true being is known to the philosopher only.
"No," he said. "All three are honored according to how well they reach their goal. The rich, the brave, and the wise each have their admirers. Since they receive honor, they all experience the pleasures of honor. But the pleasure that comes from knowing true being is felt only by the philosopher."
His experience, then, will enable him to judge better than any one?
"So his experience will let him judge better than anyone?"
Far better.
"Much better."
And he is the only one who has wisdom as well as experience?
"Is he the only person with both wisdom and experience?"
Certainly.
"Certainly."
Further, the very faculty which is the instrument of judgment is not possessed by the covetous or ambitious man, but only by the philosopher?
"Isn't the very faculty that judges absent in the greedy or ambitious person? It belongs only to the philosopher."
What faculty?
"What ability?"
Reason, with whom, as we were saying, the decision ought to rest.
"As we were saying, the decision should rest with Reason."
Yes.
"Yes."
And reasoning is peculiarly his instrument?
"And is reasoning especially his tool?"
Certainly.
"Of course."
If wealth and gain were the criterion, then the praise or blame of the lover of gain would surely be the most trustworthy?
"If wealth and profit were the measure, whose judgment would you trust? The praise or the blame of someone who loves money?"
Assuredly.
"Certainly."
Or if honour or victory or courage, in that case the judgment of the ambitious or pugnacious would be the truest?
"Or if honor, victory, or courage mattered, would the judgment of the ambitious or combative be the most reliable?"
Clearly.
"Clearly."
But since experience and wisdom and reason are the judges—
"But since experience, wisdom, and reason are the judges."
The only inference possible, he replied, is that pleasures which are approved by the lover of wisdom and reason are the truest.
He replied, "We can only conclude that the truest pleasures are those approved by the lover of wisdom and reason."
And so we arrive at the result, that the pleasure of the intelligent part of the soul is the pleasantest of the three, and that he of us in whom this is the ruling principle has the pleasantest life.
"So we arrive at this result. The pleasure of the rational part of the soul is the most pleasant of the three. Whoever among us is ruled by that part has the most pleasant life."
Unquestionably, he said, the wise man speaks with authority when he approves of his own life.
"Certainly," he said. "A wise man speaks confidently when he approves of his life."
And what does the judge affirm to be the life which is next, and the pleasure which is next?
"And what does the judge say the next life is, and what does he say the next pleasure is?"
Clearly that of the soldier and lover of honour; who is nearer to himself than the money-maker.
"Clearly it belongs to the soldier, the lover of honor. He is closer to himself than the money-maker."
Last comes the lover of gain?
"Is the lover of gain last?"
Very true, he said.
"That's true," he said.
Twice in succession, then, has the just man overthrown the unjust in this conflict; and now comes the third trial, which is dedicated to Olympian Zeus the saviour: a sage whispers in my ear that no pleasure except that of the wise is quite true and pure—all others are a shadow only; and surely this will prove the greatest and most decisive of falls?
"So the just man has defeated the unjust twice in a row in this fight. Now comes the third trial. It is dedicated to Olympian Zeus the saviour. A sage whispers in my ear that no pleasure is truly real and pure except the pleasure of the wise. All other pleasures are only shadows. Won't this be the greatest and most decisive fall?"
Yes, the greatest; but will you explain yourself?
"Yes, the greatest. But will you explain yourself?"
I will work out the subject and you shall answer my questions.
"I'll work through the topic. You will answer my questions."
Proceed.
"Go on."
Say, then, is not pleasure opposed to pain?
"So then, isn't pleasure the opposite of pain?"
True.
"True."
And there is a neutral state which is neither pleasure nor pain?
"Is there a neutral state that is neither pleasure nor pain?"
There is.
"There is."
A state which is intermediate, and a sort of repose of the soul about either—that is what you mean?
"Do you mean a state that is intermediate? A kind of rest of the soul between the two?"
Yes.
"Yes."
You remember what people say when they are sick?
"Do you remember what people say when they're sick?"
What do they say?
"What do they say?"
That after all nothing is pleasanter than health. But then they never knew this to be the greatest of pleasures until they were ill.
"After all, nothing is more pleasant than health. But they didn't realize it was the greatest pleasure until they were sick."
Yes, I know, he said.
"Yes, I know," he said.
And when persons are suffering from acute pain, you must have heard them say that there is nothing pleasanter than to get rid of their pain?
"And when people are in sharp pain, you must have heard them say, 'There is nothing more pleasant than getting rid of their pain'?"
I have.
"I have."
And there are many other cases of suffering in which the mere rest and cessation of pain, and not any positive enjoyment, is extolled by them as the greatest pleasure?
"And aren't there many other cases of suffering? In those cases, simply getting rest and the end of pain is praised as the greatest pleasure. They do not mean any positive enjoyment."
Yes, he said; at the time they are pleased and well content to be at rest.
"Yes," he said. "At the time, they are pleased and content to be at rest."
Again, when pleasure ceases, that sort of rest or cessation will be painful?
"So, when pleasure stops, won't that kind of rest or pause be painful?"
Doubtless, he said.
"No doubt," he said.
Then the intermediate state of rest will be pleasure and will also be pain?
"So the intermediate state of rest will be both pleasure and pain?"
So it would seem.
"It seems so."
But can that which is neither become both?
"But can something that is neither be both?"
I should say not.
"I wouldn't say so."
And both pleasure and pain are motions of the soul, are they not?
"Pleasure and pain are both movements of the soul, aren't they?"
Yes.
"Yes."
But that which is neither was just now shown to be rest and not motion, and in a mean between them?
"But we just showed that what is neither is rest, not motion. Isn't it in a middle state between them?"
Yes.
"Yes."
How, then, can we be right in supposing that the absence of pain is pleasure, or that the absence of pleasure is pain?
"So how can we be right to suppose that the absence of pain is pleasure? Or that the absence of pleasure is pain?"
Impossible.
"That's impossible."
This then is an appearance only and not a reality; that is to say, the rest is pleasure at the moment and in comparison of what is painful, and painful in comparison of what is pleasant; but all these representations, when tried by the test of true pleasure, are not real but a sort of imposition?
"This, then, is only an appearance and not reality. In other words, the rest are momentary pleasures felt only by comparing them with pain. And they become painful when compared with what is truly pleasant. When tested against true pleasure, these things are not genuine. They are a kind of deception?"
That is the inference.
"So that's the conclusion."
Look at the other class of pleasures which have no antecedent pains and you will no longer suppose, as you perhaps may at present, that pleasure is only the cessation of pain, or pain of pleasure.
"Look at the other kind of pleasures that have no prior pains. You will no longer suppose, as you might now, that pleasure is only the end of pain. Nor will you think that pain is only the end of pleasure."
What are they, he said, and where shall I find them?
"What are they?" he asked. "Where will I find them?"
There are many of them: take as an example the pleasures of smell, which are very great and have no antecedent pains; they come in a moment, and when they depart leave no pain behind them.
"There are many of them. Take the pleasures of smell as an example. These pleasures are strong and involve no prior pain. They arrive in an instant. When they end, they leave no pain behind."
Most true, he said.
"That's very true," he said.
Let us not, then, be induced to believe that pure pleasure is the cessation of pain, or pain of pleasure.
"Let's not be led to think that pure pleasure is simply the end of pain. Nor should we think that pain is simply the end of pleasure."
No.
"No."
Still, the more numerous and violent pleasures which reach the soul through the body are generally of this sort—they are reliefs of pain.
"Still, the more numerous and intense pleasures that reach the soul through the body are usually like this. They are simply relief from pain."
That is true.
"That's true."
And the anticipations of future pleasures and pains are of a like nature?
"So our expectations of future pleasures and pains are the same?"
Yes.
"Yes."
Shall I give you an illustration of them?
"Should I give you an example of them?"
Let me hear.
"Let me hear it."
You would allow, I said, that there is in nature an upper and lower and middle region?
"You would agree," I said, "that nature has an upper, a middle, and a lower region?"
I should.
"I should."
And if a person were to go from the lower to the middle region, would he not imagine that he is going up; and he who is standing in the middle and sees whence he has come, would imagine that he is already in the upper region, if he has never seen the true upper world?
"If someone went from the lower region to the middle, he would think he had gone up. Someone standing in the middle, looking back at where he came from, would think he was already in the upper region. That would be true if he had never seen the true upper world."
To be sure, he said; how can he think otherwise?
"Certainly," he said. "How could he think otherwise?"
But if he were taken back again he would imagine, and truly imagine, that he was descending?
"But if he were taken back again, wouldn't he truly imagine he was descending?"
No doubt.
"No doubt."
All that would arise out of his ignorance of the true upper and middle and lower regions?
"Would all that come from his ignorance of the true upper, middle, and lower regions?"
Yes.
"Yes."
Then can you wonder that persons who are inexperienced in the truth, as they have wrong ideas about many other things, should also have wrong ideas about pleasure and pain and the intermediate state; so that when they are only being drawn towards the painful they feel pain and think the pain which they experience to be real, and in like manner, when drawn away from pain to the neutral or intermediate state, they firmly believe that they have reached the goal of satiety and pleasure; they, not knowing pleasure, err in contrasting pain with the absence of pain, which is like contrasting black with grey instead of white—can you wonder, I say, at this?
"Can you be surprised that people who lack experience of the truth have wrong ideas about many things? They also misunderstand pleasure, pain, and the intermediate state. When they are pulled toward something painful, they feel pain and take that feeling to be real. And when they move away from pain into a neutral state, they firmly believe they have reached satisfaction. They think this is pleasure. Not knowing true pleasure, they mistake the absence of pain for pleasure. That's like comparing black with grey instead of with white. Can you wonder at that?"
No, indeed; I should be much more disposed to wonder at the opposite.
"No, not at all. I'd be much more likely to wonder at the opposite."
Look at the matter thus:—Hunger, thirst, and the like, are inanitions of the bodily state?
"Look at it this way. Hunger, thirst, and similar things are merely states of bodily depletion?"
Yes.
"Yes."
And ignorance and folly are inanitions of the soul?
"And are ignorance and folly a kind of starvation of the soul?"
True.
"That's true."
And food and wisdom are the corresponding satisfactions of either?
"So food satisfies the body, and wisdom satisfies the soul?"
Certainly.
"Certainly."
And is the satisfaction derived from that which has less or from that which has more existence the truer?
"Is the satisfaction that comes from things with less existence truer? Or is the satisfaction from things with more existence truer?"
Clearly, from that which has more.
"Clearly, from whatever has more."
What classes of things have a greater share of pure existence in your judgment—those of which food and drink and condiments and all kinds of sustenance are examples, or the class which contains true opinion and knowledge and mind and all the different kinds of virtue? Put the question in this way:—Which has a more pure being—that which is concerned with the invariable, the immortal, and the true, and is of such a nature, and is found in such natures; or that which is concerned with and found in the variable and mortal, and is itself variable and mortal?
"Which class of things, in your view, has a greater share of pure existence? The ones that include food, drink, condiments, and all kinds of nourishment? Or the class that contains true opinion, knowledge, mind, and all kinds of virtue? Put it this way. Which is more purely real: the things concerned with the unchanging, the immortal, and the true? They are of that nature and are found in such natures. Or the things concerned with the changeable and mortal, which are themselves changeable and mortal?"
Far purer, he replied, is the being of that which is concerned with the invariable.
"The existence of whatever deals with the unchanging is much purer," he replied.
And does the essence of the invariable partake of knowledge in the same degree as of essence?
"And does the essence of the unchanging share in knowledge to the same degree as it shares in essence?"
Yes, of knowledge in the same degree.
"Yes, in knowledge to the same extent."
And of truth in the same degree?
"And what about truth? Is it present to the same degree?"
Yes.
"Yes."
And, conversely, that which has less of truth will also have less of essence?
"And conversely, if something has less truth, doesn't it also have less essence?"
Necessarily.
"Of course."
Then, in general, those kinds of things which are in the service of the body have less of truth and essence than those which are in the service of the soul?
"So, generally, are things that serve the body less real and true than those that serve the soul?"
Far less.
"Much less."
And has not the body itself less of truth and essence than the soul?
"Doesn't the body itself have less truth and reality than the soul?"
Yes.
"Yes."
What is filled with more real existence, and actually has a more real existence, is more really filled than that which is filled with less real existence and is less real?
"If something contains more real existence, and actually has more real existence, isn't it more truly filled? Isn't it fuller than something that contains less and is less real?"
Of course.
"Of course."
And if there be a pleasure in being filled with that which is according to nature, that which is more really filled with more real being will more really and truly enjoy true pleasure; whereas that which participates in less real being will be less truly and surely satisfied, and will participate in an illusory and less real pleasure?
"And if there is pleasure in being filled with what is natural, then that which is fuller of real being will enjoy truer pleasure. Will what has less real being be less truly satisfied and share in a weaker, illusory pleasure?"
Unquestionably.
"Certainly."
Those then who know not wisdom and virtue, and are always busy with gluttony and sensuality, go down and up again as far as the mean; and in this region they move at random throughout life, but they never pass into the true upper world; thither they neither look, nor do they ever find their way, neither are they truly filled with true being, nor do they taste of pure and abiding pleasure. Like cattle, with their eyes always looking down and their heads stooping to the earth, that is, to the dining-table, they fatten and feed and breed, and, in their excessive love of these delights, they kick and butt at one another with horns and hoofs which are made of iron; and they kill one another by reason of their insatiable lust. For they fill themselves with that which is not substantial, and the part of themselves which they fill is also unsubstantial and incontinent.
"Those who lack wisdom and virtue live only for food and pleasure. They rise and fall only as far as the middle. In that region they wander through life without direction. They never reach the true upper world. They do not look toward it, and they never find their way there. They are not filled with true being, nor do they taste real, lasting pleasure. Like cattle, they keep their eyes on the ground and their heads bent toward the table. They fatten, feed, and breed. In their excessive love of these pleasures, they gore and butt one another with iron horns and hooves. Their insatiable appetite drives them to kill each other. They fill themselves with things that have no real substance, and the parts of themselves they feed become empty and without self-control."
Verily, Socrates, said Glaucon, you describe the life of the many like an oracle.
"Truly, Socrates," Glaucon said, "you describe most people's lives as if you were an oracle."
Their pleasures are mixed with pains—how can they be otherwise? For they are mere shadows and pictures of the true, and are coloured by contrast, which exaggerates both light and shade, and so they implant in the minds of fools insane desires of themselves; and they are fought about as Stesichorus says that the Greeks fought about the shadow of Helen at Troy in ignorance of the truth.
"Their pleasures are mixed with pains. How could they be otherwise? They are only shadows and images of what is real. Contrast gives them color, and that contrast exaggerates both light and darkness. That makes fools form crazy desires for those shadows. People even fight over them. As Stesichorus says, the Greeks fought over Helen's shadow at Troy, ignorant of the truth."
Something of that sort must inevitably happen.
"That kind of thing is bound to happen."
And must not the like happen with the spirited or passionate element of the soul? Will not the passionate man who carries his passion into action, be in the like case, whether he is envious and ambitious, or violent and contentious, or angry and discontented, if he be seeking to attain honour and victory and the satisfaction of his anger without reason or sense?
"And won't the same thing happen to the spirited, or passionate, part of the soul? If a passionate person acts on those feelings, won't they be in the same position? This holds whether they are envious and ambitious, violent and quarrelsome, or angry and discontented. It happens when they pursue honor, victory, or the satisfaction of their anger without reason."
Yes, he said, the same will happen with the spirited element also.
"Yes," he said, "the same thing will happen with the spirited element."
Then may we not confidently assert that the lovers of money and honour, when they seek their pleasures under the guidance and in the company of reason and knowledge, and pursue after and win the pleasures which wisdom shows them, will also have the truest pleasures in the highest degree which is attainable to them, inasmuch as they follow truth; and they will have the pleasures which are natural to them, if that which is best for each one is also most natural to him?
"Can't we confidently say this? Lovers of money and honor seek pleasure. When they are guided by reason and knowledge and pursue pleasures wisdom reveals, they will have the truest pleasures. They will enjoy them to the highest degree they can reach because they follow the truth. They will also have the pleasures natural to them. This happens if what is best for each person is also what comes most naturally to them."
Yes, certainly; the best is the most natural.
"Yes, of course. What is best is also the most natural."
And when the whole soul follows the philosophical principle, and there is no division, the several parts are just, and do each of them their own business, and enjoy severally the best and truest pleasures of which they are capable?
"And when the whole soul follows the philosophical principle and is not divided, are the parts just? Does each part do its own work and enjoy the best, truest pleasures it can?"
Exactly.
"Exactly."
But when either of the two other principles prevails, it fails in attaining its own pleasure, and compels the rest to pursue after a pleasure which is a shadow only and which is not their own?
"But when one of the other two principles takes over, it fails to attain its own pleasure. It then forces the others to pursue a pleasure that is only a shadow and not their own?"
True.
"True."
And the greater the interval which separates them from philosophy and reason, the more strange and illusive will be the pleasure?
"And the further they are from philosophy and reason, the stranger and more deceptive the pleasure becomes?"
Yes.
"Yes."
And is not that farthest from reason which is at the greatest distance from law and order?
"Isn't what lies farthest from reason also farthest from law and order?"
Clearly.
"Clearly."
And the lustful and tyrannical desires are, as we saw, at the greatest distance? Yes.
"And the lustful and tyrannical impulses are, as we saw, the farthest away?" "Yes."
And the royal and orderly desires are nearest?
"So the royal and orderly desires are closest?"
Yes.
"Yes."
Then the tyrant will live at the greatest distance from true or natural pleasure, and the king at the least?
"So the tyrant will be farthest from true, natural pleasure, and the king will be closest?"
Certainly.
"Of course."
But if so, the tyrant will live most unpleasantly, and the king most pleasantly?
"So then, the tyrant will live very unhappily, and the king very happily?"
Inevitably.
"Of course."
Would you know the measure of the interval which separates them?
"Would you know how wide the gap between them is?"
Will you tell me?
"Will you tell me?"
There appear to be three pleasures, one genuine and two spurious: now the transgression of the tyrant reaches a point beyond the spurious; he has run away from the region of law and reason, and taken up his abode with certain slave pleasures which are his satellites, and the measure of his inferiority can only be expressed in a figure.
“There seem to be three pleasures: one genuine and two false. The tyrant's wrongdoing goes beyond those false pleasures. He has left the realm of law and reason. He has made his home with certain slave pleasures that are his satellites. The measure of his inferiority can only be shown by a figure.”
How do you mean?
"What do you mean?"
I assume, I said, that the tyrant is in the third place from the oligarch; the democrat was in the middle?
"I assume the tyrant is third from the oligarch," I said. "Was the democrat in the middle?"
Yes.
"Yes."
And if there is truth in what has preceded, he will be wedded to an image of pleasure which is thrice removed as to truth from the pleasure of the oligarch?
"And if what was just said is true, won't he be attached to a mere image of pleasure? That image would be three times removed from the oligarch's real pleasure."
He will.
"He will."
And the oligarch is third from the royal; since we count as one royal and aristocratical?
"And the oligarch is third after the royal, since we count the royal and the aristocratic as one?"
Yes, he is third.
"Yes, he's third."
Then the tyrant is removed from true pleasure by the space of a number which is three times three?
"So the tyrant is kept from true pleasure for a period equal to three times three?"
Manifestly.
"Clearly."
The shadow then of tyrannical pleasure determined by the number of length will be a plane figure.
"So the shadow of tyrannical pleasure, measured by its length, will be a flat shape."
Certainly.
"Of course."
And if you raise the power and make the plane a solid, there is no difficulty in seeing how vast is the interval by which the tyrant is parted from the king.
"If you raise the power and turn the plane into a solid, it's easy to see the gap. The distance between the tyrant and the king is vast."
Yes; the arithmetician will easily do the sum.
"Yes, the mathematician will easily do the sum."
Or if some person begins at the other end and measures the interval by which the king is parted from the tyrant in truth of pleasure, he will find him, when the multiplication is completed, living 729 times more pleasantly, and the tyrant more painfully by this same interval.
"Or start from the other end. Measure how far the king is from the tyrant in real pleasure. After you multiply, the king lives 729 times more pleasantly. The tyrant, by that same interval, lives 729 times more painfully."
What a wonderful calculation! And how enormous is the distance which separates the just from the unjust in regard to pleasure and pain!
"What a wonderful calculation! How huge the gap is between the just and the unjust when it comes to pleasure and pain!"
Yet a true calculation, I said, and a number which nearly concerns human life, if human beings are concerned with days and nights and months and years. (729 NEARLY equals the number of days and nights in the year.)
"Yet a true calculation," I said. "It is a number that almost matches human life measured in days, nights, months, and years." 729 nearly equals the number of days and nights in the year.
Yes, he said, human life is certainly concerned with them.
"Yes," he said. "Human life certainly has to do with them."
Then if the good and just man be thus superior in pleasure to the evil and unjust, his superiority will be infinitely greater in propriety of life and in beauty and virtue?
"So if the good and just man is superior in pleasure to the evil and unjust, isn't his superiority even greater in proper living, in beauty, and in virtue?"
Immeasurably greater.
"Far greater."
Well, I said, and now having arrived at this stage of the argument, we may revert to the words which brought us hither: Was not some one saying that injustice was a gain to the perfectly unjust who was reputed to be just?
"Well," I said, "now that we've reached this stage of the argument, we can return to the words that brought us here. Didn't someone say that injustice benefits the perfectly unjust person who is thought to be just?"
Yes, that was said.
"Yes, that's what was said."
Now then, having determined the power and quality of justice and injustice, let us have a little conversation with him.
"We've now determined the power and nature of justice and injustice. Let's have a short conversation with him."
What shall we say to him?
"What should we say to him?"
Let us make an image of the soul, that he may have his own words presented before his eyes.
"Let's make an image of the soul so he can see his own words."
Of what sort?
"What kind?"
An ideal image of the soul, like the composite creations of ancient mythology, such as the Chimera or Scylla or Cerberus, and there are many others in which two or more different natures are said to grow into one.
"An ideal image of the soul is like the composite creatures of ancient myth. Think of the Chimera, Scylla, or Cerberus. Many myths describe two or more different natures growing into one."
There are said of have been such unions.
"People say such unions once existed."
Then do you now model the form of a multitudinous, many-headed monster, having a ring of heads of all manner of beasts, tame and wild, which he is able to generate and metamorphose at will.
"So are you now describing the form of a many-headed monster? It has a ring of heads of every kind of beast, tame and wild. He can create and change them at will."
You suppose marvellous powers in the artist; but, as language is more pliable than wax or any similar substance, let there be such a model as you propose.
"You credit the artist with marvelous powers. But language is more flexible than wax or any similar material. So suppose there is the kind of model you propose."
Suppose now that you make a second form as of a lion, and a third of a man, the second smaller than the first, and the third smaller than the second.
"Now suppose you make a second form of a lion and a third of a man. The second is smaller than the first, and the third smaller than the second."
That, he said, is an easier task; and I have made them as you say.
"That's an easier task," he said. "I've made them as you say."
And now join them, and let the three grow into one.
"Now join them. Let the three become one."
That has been accomplished.
"That's been done."
Next fashion the outside of them into a single image, as of a man, so that he who is not able to look within, and sees only the outer hull, may believe the beast to be a single human creature.
"Next shape their outer appearance into a single image, like that of a man. He who cannot look inside, and who sees only the outer shell, will think the beast is a single human."
I have done so, he said.
"I've done that," he said.
And now, to him who maintains that it is profitable for the human creature to be unjust, and unprofitable to be just, let us reply that, if he be right, it is profitable for this creature to feast the multitudinous monster and strengthen the lion and the lion-like qualities, but to starve and weaken the man, who is consequently liable to be dragged about at the mercy of either of the other two; and he is not to attempt to familiarize or harmonize them with one another—he ought rather to suffer them to fight and bite and devour one another.
"And now, to anyone who says it's profitable to be unjust and not profitable to be just, we reply. If he is right, then that person should fatten the many-headed beast and strengthen the lion-like part. He would starve and weaken the human part. The human part would then be dragged around at the mercy of either of the other two. He should not try to make them get along. Instead, he should let them fight, bite, and devour one another."
Certainly, he said; that is what the approver of injustice says.
"Certainly," he said. "That's what someone who approves of injustice would say."
To him the supporter of justice makes answer that he should ever so speak and act as to give the man within him in some way or other the most complete mastery over the entire human creature. He should watch over the many-headed monster like a good husbandman, fostering and cultivating the gentle qualities, and preventing the wild ones from growing; he should be making the lion-heart his ally, and in common care of them all should be uniting the several parts with one another and with himself.
"The supporter of justice answers, 'Speak and act so the inner man gains full control over the whole person. Guard the many-headed monster like a careful farmer. Foster the gentle qualities and stop the wild ones from growing. Make the lion-heart your ally. Care for them all and bind the parts to one another and to yourself.'"
Yes, he said, that is quite what the maintainer of justice say.
"Yes," he said, "that is exactly what the guardian of justice says."
And so from every point of view, whether of pleasure, honour, or advantage, the approver of justice is right and speaks the truth, and the disapprover is wrong and false and ignorant?
"So in every respect, whether for pleasure, honor, or gain, the one who approves justice is right and tells the truth. The one who rejects it is wrong, false, and ignorant?"
Yes, from every point of view.
"Yes, in every respect."
Come, now, and let us gently reason with the unjust, who is not intentionally in error. ‘Sweet Sir,’ we will say to him, ‘what think you of things esteemed noble and ignoble? Is not the noble that which subjects the beast to the man, or rather to the god in man; and the ignoble that which subjects the man to the beast?’ He can hardly avoid saying Yes—can he now?
Come now. Let's calmly reason with the unjust man who is not wrong on purpose. "Good sir," we will say to him, "what do you think about things people call noble and ignoble? Isn't the noble what makes the beast obey the man, or rather the god in the man? And isn't the ignoble what makes the man serve the beast?" He can hardly avoid saying "Yes." Can he now?
Not if he has any regard for my opinion.
"Not if he cares what I think."
But, if he agree so far, we may ask him to answer another question: ‘Then how would a man profit if he received gold and silver on the condition that he was to enslave the noblest part of him to the worst? Who can imagine that a man who sold his son or daughter into slavery for money, especially if he sold them into the hands of fierce and evil men, would be the gainer, however large might be the sum which he received? And will any one say that he is not a miserable caitiff who remorselessly sells his own divine being to that which is most godless and detestable? Eriphyle took the necklace as the price of her husband’s life, but he is taking a bribe in order to compass a worse ruin.’
But if he agrees so far, we can ask another question: "How would a man profit if he took gold and silver? He would have to enslave the best part of himself to the worst. Who could think a man gains by selling his son or daughter into slavery for money? Especially if he sells them into the hands of brutal, evil people. No sum could make him better off. Can anyone call him anything but a miserable wretch who heartlessly sells what is most divine in him to what is most godless and detestable? Eriphyle accepted the necklace as the price of her husband's life. But this man is taking a bribe to bring about an even worse ruin."
Yes, said Glaucon, far worse—I will answer for him.
"Yes," Glaucon said. "Far worse. I'll answer for him."
Has not the intemperate been censured of old, because in him the huge multiform monster is allowed to be too much at large?
"Haven't people long criticized the intemperate? In such a person a huge, many-formed monster is allowed to run wild."
Clearly.
"Clearly."
And men are blamed for pride and bad temper when the lion and serpent element in them disproportionately grows and gains strength?
"Are people blamed for pride and bad temper when the lion and serpent part in them grows too strong?"
Yes.
"Yes."
And luxury and softness are blamed, because they relax and weaken this same creature, and make a coward of him?
"Are we blaming luxury and ease because they relax and weaken this man and make him a coward?"
Very true.
"That's true."
And is not a man reproached for flattery and meanness who subordinates the spirited animal to the unruly monster, and, for the sake of money, of which he can never have enough, habituates him in the days of his youth to be trampled in the mire, and from being a lion to become a monkey?
"Isn't a man blamed for flattery and meanness when he puts his spirited side under the control of the unruly beast? For the sake of money, which he never has enough of, he trains it while young to be trampled in the mud and to change from a lion into a monkey."
True, he said.
"True," he said.
And why are mean employments and manual arts a reproach? Only because they imply a natural weakness of the higher principle; the individual is unable to control the creatures within him, but has to court them, and his great study is how to flatter them.
"Why are lowly jobs and manual crafts looked down on? They are blamed because they show a weakness in the higher part of a person. He cannot control the creatures within himself. Instead he must court them. His main concern becomes how to flatter them."
Such appears to be the reason.
"That seems to be the reason."
And therefore, being desirous of placing him under a rule like that of the best, we say that he ought to be the servant of the best, in whom the Divine rules; not, as Thrasymachus supposed, to the injury of the servant, but because every one had better be ruled by divine wisdom dwelling within him; or, if this be impossible, then by an external authority, in order that we may be all, as far as possible, under the same government, friends and equals.
"We want to put him under the rule of the best. So he should be the servant of the best, someone in whom the divine rules. Not, as Thrasymachus supposed, to harm the servant. Rather, it is better for everyone to be ruled by the divine wisdom within them. If that is impossible, they should be ruled by an outside authority. That way, as far as possible, we will all be under the same government, friends and equals."
True, he said.
"True," he said.
And this is clearly seen to be the intention of the law, which is the ally of the whole city; and is seen also in the authority which we exercise over children, and the refusal to let them be free until we have established in them a principle analogous to the constitution of a state, and by cultivation of this higher element have set up in their hearts a guardian and ruler like our own, and when this is done they may go their ways.
"You can clearly see this is the law's purpose. The law is the city's ally. You also see it in how we treat children. We do not let them go free until we have planted in them a principle like the city's constitution. We train this higher part. We set up in their hearts a guardian and ruler like the one in ours. Once that is done, we let them go."
Yes, he said, the purpose of the law is manifest.
"Yes," he said. "The purpose of the law is clear."
From what point of view, then, and on what ground can we say that a man is profited by injustice or intemperance or other baseness, which will make him a worse man, even though he acquire money or power by his wickedness?
"Then from what point of view can we say a person benefits from injustice, self-indulgence, or other vices? On what basis could we claim that? Those vices make him worse, even if he gains money or power through wickedness."
From no point of view at all.
"From no point of view at all."
What shall he profit, if his injustice be undetected and unpunished? He who is undetected only gets worse, whereas he who is detected and punished has the brutal part of his nature silenced and humanized; the gentler element in him is liberated, and his whole soul is perfected and ennobled by the acquirement of justice and temperance and wisdom, more than the body ever is by receiving gifts of beauty, strength and health, in proportion as the soul is more honourable than the body.
"What does he gain if his injustice goes unnoticed and unpunished? Someone who escapes detection only gets worse. If he is caught and punished, the savage side of his nature is quieted and made more human. The gentler part of him is freed. His whole soul is refined and ennobled by gaining justice, self-control, and wisdom. This improves the soul more than any gifts of beauty, strength, or health improve the body. The soul is nobler than the body."
Certainly, he said.
"Certainly," he said.
To this nobler purpose the man of understanding will devote the energies of his life. And in the first place, he will honour studies which impress these qualities on his soul and will disregard others?
"A person of understanding will devote their life's energy to that higher purpose. And first, will they value the studies that shape these qualities in their soul and ignore the rest?"
Clearly, he said.
"Clearly," he said.
In the next place, he will regulate his bodily habit and training, and so far will he be from yielding to brutal and irrational pleasures, that he will regard even health as quite a secondary matter; his first object will be not that he may be fair or strong or well, unless he is likely thereby to gain temperance, but he will always desire so to attemper the body as to preserve the harmony of the soul?
"Next, he will control his bodily habits and his training. He will be far from yielding to coarse, irrational pleasures. Even health will be a secondary concern. His main aim will not be to be beautiful, strong, or well, unless those qualities help him gain temperance. He will always seek to order the body so it preserves the soul's harmony?"
Certainly he will, if he has true music in him.
"Of course he will, if he truly has music in him."
And in the acquisition of wealth there is a principle of order and harmony which he will also observe; he will not allow himself to be dazzled by the foolish applause of the world, and heap up riches to his own infinite harm?
"And in acquiring wealth there is a principle of order and harmony he will follow. He will not let himself be dazzled by the world's foolish applause. Nor will he pile up riches to his own endless harm?"
Certainly not, he said.
"Certainly not," he said.
He will look at the city which is within him, and take heed that no disorder occur in it, such as might arise either from superfluity or from want; and upon this principle he will regulate his property and gain or spend according to his means.
"He will look at the city within him. He must make sure no disorder takes hold there, whether from excess or shortage. On that principle he will manage his possessions, earning and spending within his means."
Very true.
"Very true."
And, for the same reason, he will gladly accept and enjoy such honours as he deems likely to make him a better man; but those, whether private or public, which are likely to disorder his life, he will avoid?
"And for the same reason he will gladly accept honors he thinks will make him better. But he will avoid any honors, private or public, that are likely to disrupt his life?"
Then, if that is his motive, he will not be a statesman.
"If that's his motive, he won't be a statesman."
By the dog of Egypt, he will! in the city which is his own he certainly will, though in the land of his birth perhaps not, unless he have a divine call.
"By the dog of Egypt, he will! In his own city he certainly will. In the land of his birth, though, he probably will not, unless he has a divine call."
I understand; you mean that he will be a ruler in the city of which we are the founders, and which exists in idea only; for I do not believe that there is such an one anywhere on earth?
"I understand. You mean he will be a ruler in the city we are founding, a city that exists only as an idea. I don't believe such a city exists anywhere on earth, do you?"
In heaven, I replied, there is laid up a pattern of it, methinks, which he who desires may behold, and beholding, may set his own house in order. But whether such an one exists, or ever will exist in fact, is no matter; for he will live after the manner of that city, having nothing to do with any other.
"In heaven," I said, "there is, I think, a model of it. Anyone who wants can look at it and, seeing it, arrange his own household. But whether such a person actually exists or ever will does not matter. He will live in the way of that city and have nothing to do with any other."
I think so, he said.
"I think so," he said.